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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024451">Throw My Bones to the Wolves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyCat/pseuds/AddyCat'>AddyCat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bodyguard Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler &amp; Mutou Yuugi Friendship, Kaiba Seto Has Issues, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Violetshipping, joukai, kaijou, like super slow burn, puppyshipping - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:02:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyCat/pseuds/AddyCat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So… what's the catch. There’s no way you’re offering me a silver platter job with no catch.” This time, Mokuba has the decency to look a little sheepish. He and Miyuki exchange a tense look, but as the dark-haired young man turns to open his mouth, the door whips open once again. </p><p>“Let's get this over with.”</p><p>The sound of a deep, baritone drawl dripping with self-assured arrogance is enough to make Jou’s blood run cold. He turns slowly in his seat and the moment amber eyes meet cold blue, both men freeze instantly. Standing at the doorway with a mug of coffee is none other than the literal bane of his existence. </p><p>Seto fucking Kaiba.</p><p>OR: Jounouchi lost his job and Seto Kaiba is forced to take on a bodyguard for his own personal protection. After begrudgingly allowing Mokuba to vet potential candidates, he's forced to reckon with a blonde-haired mutt instead. Will their newfound reunion after seven years of radio silence lead to disaster? Or can both parties set aside years of hatred to let bygones be bygones?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, friends! This fic is a project I had originally started back in 2014. I have been incredibly out of the loop from the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom for the better part of... years, but with quarantine getting the best of me, I reconnected with old works, fics, and content. This fic was incredibly outdated and lacked a lot of storytelling considering I started it at the age of 17. So I hope it's more enjoyable now!</p><p>This fic is an incredibly slow burn, so please bear with me! This takes place seven years after everyone graduated high-school and is mostly post-canon but... my knowledge of the YGO DM universe is a little lacking right now so ... have mercy on me.</p><p>YuGiOh does not in any shape, way, or form belong to me! Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Brooklyn, New York City, New York. 7:04 PM EST.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The brisk autumn breeze clatters loudly against the open window, sending a gust of frigid air whipping through the small space with little remorse. Seven o’clock in Brooklyn had always been a bitter affair in the throes of October -- but even the ambient sound of screeching tires, blaring car honks, and the occasional siren did little to disturb Jou’s heavy sleep. The tendrils of icy air creeping against his exposed cheek only manage to pull a slight shiver and a tired groan from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs the blanket higher now, pulling it up and over his head to protect him from the cold before his sleeping figure rolls listlessly upon his futon; while Jou had moved to New York nearly five years prior, he had yet to fully grow out of his preferences for Japanese style bedding. His futon was far cheaper than a Western-style bed and conserved quite a bit more space -- a welcome blessing, considering all the blonde had managed to afford was a cramped studio tucked in the asscrack of Williamsburg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Jou was younger, more naive, the sun dipping below the horizon at seven o’clock had meant only one thing -- that another day of game-related adventures with his closest friends was slowly winding down and the only thing left was to laugh around a large pizza (half pepperoni, half cheese; Yugi always insisted on eating plain cheese while he and Honda would squabble over the last slice of pork-y, cheesy bliss under Anzu’s dismayed gaze) until exhaustion took hold of the quartet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven years had passed since graduation, though -- and with the sudden shift, the familiar dynamic of comfort Jou had leaned on so heavily for support during his adolescence began to slowly dissolve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anzu moved to the States as she had promised, pursuing a career in dance after securing an acceptance at Juilliard's. Honda had moved to Tokyo alongside Shizuka -- much to Jou’s chagrin, initially -- to start a future with the girl he had been so enamored with for years prior. Yugi, too, had future plans -- and while his grandfather’s game shop had been left under the youngest Motou’s name, the King of Games had many appearances to make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first two years following graduation had been painfully uneventful in comparison to those closest to him; dead-end odd-jobs that hardly paid the bills and an alcoholic father who found comfort in slurring his rage when Jou had the misfortune of crossing paths with him did little to quell the emptiness that lingered in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, prosperity had come for those closest to him -- but he had a rather unlucky streak preceding him. Jou was never that surprised, really, that the shit end of the stick always seemed to be thrust into his hands time and time again. He endured, nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until his mother fell ill that Jou decided to bid Domino his final goodbye. It was an unfortunate circumstance -- and while both Shizuka and himself had little contact with the woman who had birthed them since they were children, neither could turn a blind eye in good conscience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou was twenty years old when he packed his bag and left the shabby abode he had called a hell-hole for the better part of two decades. A scribbled note on a leftover index card was the only goodbye he had offered his father before the door closed shut behind him, hinges creaking and uneven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had little recollection of New York -- and while his mother hailed from the Big Apple, Jou had hardly ever visited. He maintained a vague memory of Christmas when he was little more than a toddler where he and his mother had wandered through Manhattan to admire the tree settled in Rockefeller Center, but the more Jou had thought about it, the more he was convinced it had been a fever dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The transition to settling in New York, while strange, hadn’t been altogether unwelcome. Tending to his sick mother had been taxing and long hours as a barista close to NYU had proven to be a grueling experience (there was nothing quite as tiresome as bundles of spoiled college brats barking at him in English to make their caramel-salted-foam-macchi-whatever A-SAP,) but Anzu was nearby and having a familiar face so close lifted his spirits enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as it always happened in Jou’s case, his luck slowly began to taper out. Anzu’s dance career relocated her to Los Angeles, leaving the blonde-haired man to his own devices once again -- and as the years passed him by, his mother’s condition began to deteriorate. Hospital visits became more frequent and overnight stays eating up a majority of her last few months. Jou hardly had time to visit her, though, taking on more hours than he could humanly tolerate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>America was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the money had to come from somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One year, three months, and two and a half weeks ago, his mother had finally succumbed and exhaled her last breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weeks following that night were a blur; Jou hardly remembered the details, just that his extended family had finally made an appearance to organize the formalities. Shizuka had flown out from Tokyo and to Jou’s much needed relief, Honda had joined the pair of siblings when it came to the funeral and all. Yugi, Anzu, and even Otogi had messaged him their condolences -- and after the convoluted maelstrom of misplaced emotions and confusion had finally subsided, Jou had been left with a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He no longer had business to tend to in New York -- but the more he thought about it, he realized the same was true for Domino. With no friends or likeable family left in the small town in Japan, Jou opted to stay where he had settled his roots. He emptied the apartment he had shared with his mother, packed his things, and downsized to a place of his own. It wasn’t glamorous, but none of his prior residences had been anything more than simply “liveable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quit his job at the cafe and found himself locked in a vicious cycle of temporary employment followed by an abrupt termination. His last three places of employment had fired him without warning after a handful of months, blaming it on his flaring temper sometimes and on his lack of punctuality and responsibility at others. All bullshit, if you asked Jou. He was personable and mature enough to win a few national tournaments, for Christ’s sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unfortunate circumstances could hardly be supplanted by his tremendous skills at Duel Monsters no matter what Jou wished, so he resigned himself to job-hunting when plausible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last six months had granted him a rather comfortable position as a security guard for an upscale apartment building in the heart of Manhattan; the benefits were handsome enough and the pay steady, but the hours were truthfully a hassle. Night shifts some weeks and ass-crack-of-dawn shifts on others, it was unpredictable. But hey, Jou could hardly complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sleeping schedule took a hit, though -- hence why 7 PM wind hardly roused him from sleep. It isn’t until his phone roars to life, offending alarm blaring at the highest volume, that Jou startles himself awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ hell--!” he snaps, heart lurching in his chest as he bolts upright. One hand flies to rest upon his chest as Jou focuses on steadying the racing thumps beating against his ribcage. It takes him a long moment before he finally groans in defeat, slumping over slightly. The hand hovering over his chest shifts to instead run through knotted blonde hair, tugging distractedly in an attempt at loosening the matted bits as best as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another day, another goddamn dollar, he thinks to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, he lets his thumb click down onto the lock button of his phone, allowing the brick to clatter to the ground listlessly. His insomnia had been acting up real badly as of recent -- and with the ever-changing nature of his shifts, it seemed as if Jou had no choice but to resign himself to never having a fitful night of sleep again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” he finally grumbles to himself. His words taper off into a wide, loud yawn, and arms stretch high above his head. Muscles quiver slightly at the exertion before he goes limp once more. “Dunno if I’ve even got any food in the fridge,” he continues before heaving himself to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a long commute ahead of him. There’s no use in procrastinating on getting his day started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Domino City, Japan. 8:04 AM JST.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiots</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spits the word out through gritted teeth, all but seething as the door to his personal office slams loudly shut behind him. It was hardly past eight in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> morning and yet, his board of department heads </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> managed to soil his already rotten mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slender fingers flex before grasping the headrest of his leather chair, spinning it around with a sharp movement before Seto Kaiba finally resolves to sink into its plush depths. “Christ,” he hisses under his breath, head lolling back. He pinches the bridge of his nose before inhaling sharply in a last-ditch effort at managing his quickly-climbing blood pressure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the latest model of the KC-patented virtual reality technology going live for the mass market in less than a week, he had been anticipating a few missteps along the way -- but royal fuck-ups weren’t on his agenda. It had taken what little self-control he still possessed to keep from firing everyone in the room on the spot. Instead, he opted to give them all a cutting tongue-lashing and an infuriated demand to fix the server complications the latest debug had unearthed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto flares his nostrils with one last inhale. His eyes crack open to stare blankly up at the ceiling overhead -- and for a moment, he can’t help but wonder why no one else on God’s green earth seemed to care for results the way he did. The only conclusive answer that the brunette could draw was that everyone around him was simply incompetent -- but the better part of the last decade had forced Seto to contend with the fact that people around him had very real and very complicated feelings that could impact their work ethic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How inconvenient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips twitch into a grimace. “Damn dweebs,” Seto concedes bitterly to himself; Yugi and his army of brats had a strange way of pushing their Gung-Ho beliefs onto the nearest living creature -- and while years of battling face to face with the King of Games and his loser mutt were behind him, he found himself occasionally reflecting upon that period of his life. Though, mostly, his thoughts concluded that their mushy, gushy, Heart-Of-The-Cards bullshit had been so painfully childish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corporate world was different from the realm of gaming -- much to Seto’s chagrin -- and no amount of work was worth his compassion. Perhaps he ruled (figuratively) with an iron fist -- but at the end of the day, Seto got the job done. And results were what mattered most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cogs in his head are already turning, piecing together the quickest and easiest method of taking the server down and reinstating it in an actually functioning state, when his phone rings loudly. It jars him only slightly, a flutter of his sapphire eyes and a stern scowl the only outwardly signs of his surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What part of ‘no interruptions’ did you not catch?” His tone is scathing as he lifts the receiver to his ear. “Whoever is calling me right now can wait. Put them on hold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! S--orry Mister Kaiba… but it’s the Vice President on the line and he--um, he really wanted me to patch him through, I tried to tell him that you were busy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christ. Seto hisses out another strained breath through his teeth before pinching his nose. “What does he want?” He groans out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah! Well, um, I think he said he wants to meet with you? Along with Miyuki-san --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” His tone is sharp and curt. “Tell him I said yes. Now don’t bother me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto didn’t bother waiting to hear his secretary’s squeaked agreement before he slams the phone back into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just his luck to start his day off with a meeting that lead to ruin and now a second appointment regarding God knew what. It wasn’t like the Vice President to call upon Seto for an emergency discussion. Just the anticipation alone was enough to send little jolts of dull pain through his skull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving a tired sigh, Seto pushes himself away from his desk sharply. If he’s going to have a migraine before the meeting even begins, he might as well fetch himself a fresh mug of coffee beforehand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Manhattan, New York City, New York. 9:13 PM EST.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It shocked Jou just how bitter New York City’s weather could become before winter had officially even begun; October was was relentless and with a sharp exhale, Jou tries his best to ignore the way his breath gathered at his lips in a visible puff. The subway stations were a strange in-between temperature, one that hardly prepared the blonde for the biting wind sweeping through the wind-tunnels created by Manhattan’s numerous skyscrapers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs his gloves and shoves his hands into his armpits as he walks down the crowded block, trying his best to keep from treading on the toes of any wandering tourists. The apartment he works at is tucked neatly against Central Park, a short walk away from the MET, leaving the entryway heavy with foot traffic no matter the hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods his head in a curt hello to one of the doormen before ducking past the heavy glass double-doors. The concierge greets him with a pleasant “Hey, Joey!” as he walks by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once his jacket and outerwear were properly stowed in the staff-room nestled at the back of the foyer, Jou exhales a deep sigh and shakes out his shoulders. He had made it just before the fifteen-minute cut-off, considering his shift had technically started at nine o’clock sharp -- but the orange line wasn’t very reliable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adjusting his utility belt upon his waist, the blonde finally taps the shoulder of the guard he was meant to relieve. “Yo, Johnson,” Jou greets calmly. Johnson -- a portly man of roughly fifty -- was a grumpy piece of work on most evenings and he was sure that tonight would be no exception. Jou takes an immediate step back as Johnson lets out a disgruntled noise at being awoken, the blonde assumes, from his short power nap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joey! About damn time ya showed up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, how Jou hated the way his English name sounded on the older man’s tongue. He offers a lazy, lop-sided grin and rubs the back of his neck apologetically. “Er, yeah. Sorry, subway traffic,” he amends as amicably as he could manage. The sooner he appeased Johnson and managed to get him to leave, the better. “But, uh. I’m here now, so… You can go home,” he supplies helpfully, even offering a wide grin to punctuate his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man levels Jou with an unforgiving side-eye before heaving himself up and pointedly leaving his post without another word. Jou puffs out a deep sigh of relief, wiggling himself into the seat security guards occupied for the better part of their shifts. It’s still hardly half past nine, Jou thinks to himself; he won’t have to start making actual rounds through the building until after quiet hours began. Which means…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Game time,” he snickers. He makes a show of glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s watching him before fishing his phone out of his pocket. While Jou’s group of friends may have all gone their separate ways physically in the past few years, there was little that could dampen their intense love for gaming together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>KaibaCorp had developed an online dueling application that had much of the same features of the holographic version of the game -- except it was all online and didn’t need to be conducted in real-time. There were numerous gameplay styles and competitive brackets happening constantly -- but Jou usually used it to continue playing Yugi when he had the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t necessarily win very often -- and when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> manage to secure a victory, he was pretty sure Yugi lost on purpose to cushion his ego a little bit -- but the sentiment was what mattered. Maybe moneybags made a point with this app, but Jou would never admit it aloud. Not that either of them had seen each other since… well, he couldn’t even recall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yugi wasn’t the only one he played. Honda, in spite of his measly record, indulged in a few rounds while Otogi challenged Jou at least once or twice a week. With everyone in different timezones, the turn-based cycle of the app helped him find some connectivity in it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hours began to tick by as Jou alternated between playing his turns on his phone, staring at a wall, and attempting not to nod off before eleven -- and when the doors to the apartment finally close and lock into place, the blonde finally heaves a sigh. He picks himself up with a tired mumble, pocketing his cell and rolling the tension out of his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’m gonna start making rounds,” Jou announces to no one particular -- but the kindly concierge hoots his support before returning to minding the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou’s steps are slow and leisurely as he begins down the first corridor of the ground floor; each apartment unit holds bronze numbering on the front of it. Some doors were decorated while others were left plain. He had yet to really make any notable observations during his nightly patrols. The only real passing thought he maintained on any given shift was that he envied the rich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t necessarily a novel thought, though. The blonde had battled his fair share of envy when he had faced off with his (former?) arch-nemesis. While it was impossible to escape Seto Kaiba’s name in a world he all but monopolized with his products, Jou hadn’t quite entertained any of his scathing dickery in years now -- but the memories remained tried and true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou almost reflects upon them fondly -- or perhaps it was merely a rose-tinted lens that left his memories blushed with nostalgia. But all those days of bickering and sneering at one another had included many an insult on Jou’s hatred for his prissy, rich-boy ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, at least he stayed consistent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket, however, stalls him. Jou lurches to a halt and fishes it out. As he turns it over, the screen comes to life and bathes him in a pale glow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[ 1 UNREAD TEXT FROM MARSHAL SUPERVISOR. Received JUST NOW.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please come to the employee’s office. ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jou makes a face and before he can swipe the notification away, the device buzzes once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[ 1 UNREAD TEXT FROM MARSHAL SUPERVISOR. Received JUST NOW.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As soon as possible. ]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou can feel his stomach sink automatically. He’d been through this far too many times already and while a part of his personality maintained a level of optimism, the years hadn’t been kind enough to let that feeling trump the sensation of icy dread that snaked through his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heaves a deep sigh and shoves his phone back into its place in his pocket. “Might as well get this shit over with,” he mumbles tiredly, trudging in the direction he had originally come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Domino City, Japan. 11:15 AM JST.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Three mugs of plain black coffee later, Seto finally feels caffeinated enough to take on whatever godforsaken meeting is coming his way. He does little to mask the clear annoyance etched into his expression. Lips pointed downwards in the makings of a harsh scowl and the jagged edge to cobalt hues is enough to frighten off any underlings in the office who dared to make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fourth cup is clasped tightly in a white-knuckled grip. He’s careful to keep it from sloshing and otherwise soiling his (expensive, new) dress shoes. Seto comes to a halt before the door of the conference room, blue eyes roving over the frosted glass standing between himself, his PR director, and the Vice President of KaibaCorp. His free hand hovers over the handle -- almost as if he’s hesitating -- before a low, ill-tempered groan escapes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto can feel numerous eyes on his back and with one pointed glare shot over his shoulder, the wide-eyed throng of employees scatter. “Hmph,” he grunts self-assuredly under his breath. Serves them right for staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, he pushes the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seto! Finally! Miyuki-san and I just managed to run through the details already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment Mokuba’s clear, light-hearted tone cuts through the air, the tension coiled deep within Seto’s shoulders finally melt away. He raises his mug to his lips, taking a slow sip of the lukewarm liquid before he finally takes his designated seat at the head of the long, sleek conference table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally looks up, he locks eyes with his younger brother -- and in spite of himself, the stern set to his scowl softens ever so slightly. Mokuba had matured greatly over the years; the young, thoughtless kid brother Seto had spent so long protecting had grown into a mature figure with enough smarts to hold his own. While Seto continued to complain that Mokuba was far too liberal with KaibaCorp’s budget and that he was too soft when he should stand firm, he had to acknowledge that the younger Kaiba brother had made a name for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enough so that the Board of Trustees had accepted Seto’s proposal to instill Mokuba as KaibaCorp’s Vice President, effective upon Mokuba’s 18th birthday. The raven-haired young man’s first year as VP was well underway and he had earned his respect among their peers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It filled Seto with a great deal of pride, for all he had ever wanted was for his little brother to have the life that he deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, of course, Mokuba now felt like he had jurisdiction to make decisions on Seto’s behalf. Which proved to be annoying at times, for lack of a better word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what is it that you wanted to meet about?” His voice retains the characteristic, bone-dry cadence it always did -- but the look he gives Mokuba from across the table is less irritated and more curious. Long fingers wrap snugly around his mug. “Clearly something important, considering I had to reschedule the lunch I had planned with the regional director for Golden Hope Bank.” His words take on a shrewd edge as he fixes Mokuba with a look that reads This-Better-Be-Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba has the decency to look sheepish, but the woman seated to his right does little to mask the slightly-annoyed sigh slipping past ruby-red lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamagishi Miyuki, a woman no older than thirty-five, acted as the current head of KaibaCorp’s desperately-needed Public Relations department. Her dark hair was cropped into a stylish angled bob and settled atop the narrow bridge of her nose were a pair of red-framed glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That specific branch of the company had been underfunded for the majority of the industry’s existence -- but upon Mokuba’s insistence, Seto had (begrudgingly) allotted a bigger portion of the budget to PR and in turn, Miyuki had been added to the team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of her cold, cutting personality, she had proven to be a wonderful asset. Seto merely found himself bristling due to her lack of fear when speaking to him. Mokuba had stated that attitude was what made her so formidable. Seto had declined to comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mokuba and I were discussing certain… aspects of your recent appearances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba bobs his head in an excited nod. For a moment, he looks ready to launch into a long-winded speech about something, but he hesitates and instead retreats into his seat to allow Miyuki to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto levels her with a flat glare but says nothing further, merely dipping his head in a curt nod to allow her to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman reaches to carefully lift a stack of neat papers settled before her, manicured nails flicking through each individual sheet quickly before she taps them against the surface of the table to straighten them out. “And upon retrospect, it seemed as if you lacked any sort of security detail for eight out of ten of your last public outings. Most of those instances were at tournaments or speeches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette can’t help but make a face. “And?” he growls, his tone low and cutting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miyuki seems unphased, merely fixing him with an equally cold stare. “The Vice President believes you are partaking in risky behavior. A man of your caliber should hardly be parading about with such a woeful lack of protection. It reflects poorly on the company’s ability to protect our greatest asset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Seto can cut in with a snide remark on how he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, Mokuba quips himself into the conversation. “I know you’re gonna say you don’t need to be protected.” Seto grimaces with muted grumbles. “But… you never know what can happen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mokuba, you’ve clearly watched one too many </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taken</span>
  </em>
  <span> movies,” Seto drawls out slowly. His dry comment is enough to earn a pointed glare from his younger brother. He can’t help but feel a little smug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seto. We just think that maybe… a personal bodyguard would be g—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He’s much more stern now than he had been moments earlier, expression hardening. “There’s no way in </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I’ll allow a stranger to tail my every move.” Call him a control freak; Seto valued his private time and even the thought of an intrusion upon his solitude made his skin crawl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With all due respect, Mister Kaiba,” Miyuki cuts in, her tone sharp and pointed as nails tap against the mahogany surface, “I insist that you reconsider your hesitation. The Vice President’s request for a security detail on your behalf has already been accepted by the Board. The adjustments to the budget are already underway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bastard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto’s incredulous stare slowly turns to fixate upon Mokuba — who has already begun to sink sheepishly back into his chair. Though the brunette was certain that he noticed a mischievous glint in the depths of his dark eyes. “The request has already been processed.” His tone is quiet, measured, and almost tense. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Before</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was even consulted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miyuki gives a brisk nod of her head. “That is correct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s seething slightly now, grip tightening around his mug with enough force that Mokuba considered it might shatter in his brother’s hand. “Then why bother with this meeting at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm… I was hoping that… I might get you to feel like it was your own idea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, he’s just as shrewd of a Kaiba as Seto is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself. He couldn’t fault Mokuba for thinking ahead, really — but still. He swallowed back the bitter taste on his tongue before lurching upright abruptly. “Then I suppose this meeting is over.” Seto’s tone is curt as he sweeps another glare over the devious pair sitting across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba looks pleased with himself, hardly bothered by Seto’s acidic and nettled nature. He saluted his brother playfully and even hazards a teasing smirk. “Leave it to us. We’ve got a few candidates in mind already. Miyuki-san and I are gonna vet them together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to back him up, she gives another nod of her head and tucks a pen neatly behind her ear. “We shall send for you once we’ve found a candidate that meets all necessary criteria.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hn.” Seto snorts with an unabashed eye roll. “Don’t disappoint me,” he cuts in brusquely before downing whatever coffee is left in his mug. He wastes not another second on them, instead turning his back and striding out past frosted-glass doors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Manhattan, New York City, New York. 12:34 AM EST. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get a refill over here?” His voice is almost baleful as he rests his head in his hands, elbows propped uselessly against the countertop of the bar. Jou’s head is already pounding but he’s not drunk enough just yet. The bartender eyes him suspiciously before sliding the blonde his third gin and tonic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snatches the glass with a muffled grumble, brows furrowed and lips twisting into a scowl. He wastes no time in tilting his head back and downing the clear liquor as fast as he could. It burns as it slides down his throat, a familiar pulse of heat coursing through his veins. “Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jou hisses to himself as fingers flex. “These drinks are weak as fuck, bro,” he adds on loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s lucky that the bartender only scoffs in response, opting to ignore the half-drunk blonde instead of taking the bait. Much to Jou’s dismay, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he curses to himself with a defeated huff, raking his fingers angrily through messy locks. He wasn’t sure what he had actually expected when walking into Marshal’s office earlier that evening — and while Jou knew that the only logical answer was that he was being fired yet again, it still fucking hurt to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve been consistently late for the past few weeks and we can’t tolerate that kind of unprofessional behavior. So unfortunately, we will be letting you go. Effective immediately. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His supervisor’s — or, technically, </span>
  <em>
    <span>former</span>
  </em>
  <span> supervisor’s — nasal tone echoed in his mind painfully, bouncing against the inside of his skull without remorse. He holds his head in his hand again and shuts his eyes tightly — as if shutting the world out for a few extra minutes will make it any easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knot of dread settled in the pit of his stomach seems to only grow heavier and heavier the more he thinks about it, tightening within his core until Jou feels almost nauseous. With an ill tempered growl, he snaps his head up and takes his empty glass. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He grunts, smacking the glass sharply against the counter for emphasis. “Vodka soda,” he crows out, hardly waiting for the bartender to even come near him, “an’ I want that shit </span>
  <em>
    <span>pronto</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” At least the alcohol will numb the feelings of self-hatred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches for his wallet, thumbing out a few loose bills as his vodka soda is slid across the bar in his direction, hoping that whatever he had left would be enough to cover the tab. At this rate, he wouldn’t even have spare change to fill up his MetroCard. “This shit better be strong,” he mumbles to himself as lips wrap around the thin straw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou slurps at the drink noisily, savoring the heated burn chasing each subsequent sip. He nearly chokes, however, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. “Ah, fuck,” he groans, jolting in his seat. He wiggles off of the barstool and as he does, he can’t help but sway ever so slightly. The sudden, jarring movement is enough to send the room spinning around him and in an attempt at steadying himself, one hand catches the edge of the bar countertop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hastily fiddles with his phone, squinting against the glare of the screen to read the contact name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PRIVATE CALLER. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jou makes a face, scoffing to himself. Usually, he’d let nameless calls go to his voicemail but all his half-drunk mind could think is that perhaps Marshal is calling to ask Jou to return to work. The thought is enough to make him smirk triumphantly and without another thought, he impulsively slides to answer it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy, already beggin’ to have me back, huh? Well, tough luck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jerkwad</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It ain’t happenin’!” He slurs loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment of static-y silence on the other end and Jou nearly deflates. He opens his mouth to pester again, when a voice that certainly doesn’t belong to Marshal hesitantly piped up. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jounouchi? Ah—is… is this a bad time?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The quiet, calm sound of Japanese on the other end along with the almost childish cadence… Jou is dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mokuba? The fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry, I should’ve realized. You’re in New York, aren't you? The time is probably insane right now…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou flips back down onto the barstool, one hand running through his disheveled blonde locks. “Er… yeah. Kinda. It’s past midnight over here.” His native tongue rolls off of his lips with ease and for the first time that night, Jou feels the tension within him </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> dissipate. “But never mind that. How’d you get my number? I haven’t heard from you in… years, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It wasn’t that hard.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The kid’s brother did own half the world and then some. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s rustling on the other end and Mokuba finally clears his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“If you’re busy, I can call back at another time.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jou says hastily — almost too quickly. “I’m not… I’m not busy. Just hangin’ out, y’know?” He feigns an attempt at being chipper, but even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> has to flinch at how painfully forced it sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay! That’s good. I’m actually calling you about.,. Well, it’s gonna sound really weird. But… we’ve got a job opportunity here in Domino.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou’s mouth runs dry almost immediately, amber hues blinking rapidly as his alcohol-addled mind attempts to piece together Mokuba’s words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger Kaiba takes Jou’s silence as a green light and continues calmly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t have to commit to anything, but… it’s a solid position. And the pay is good. We also offer lots of benefits to KaibaCorp employees. There’s a lot of other minor details, but—“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in.” Jou surprises even himself as he blurts that out. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re— I didn’t even finish telling you about it!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mokuba sounds amused, nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care. I’m in.” Jou reiterates brazenly, a renewed sense of vigor coursing through him. He had always been looking for a positive change and while his might had started off with an awful occurrence, maybe this was Lady Luck’s way of putting the cards in his favor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, well—that’s perfect! Wow, that was… way easier than I thought.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> There's a small laugh from Mokuba's end. The sound is enough to pull a small grin to Jou’s own lips.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “So… um. If you’re in, then… I’ll call you tomorrow. We gotta arrange for you to come to Domino…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can book a flight once I’m home…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No need,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mokuba interjects sharply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We’ll arrange for one of our planes to bring you here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He almost forgot that the kid was rich as balls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A private jet? For me?” Jou hoots incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, something like that. How soon can you get packed?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” he scratches the back of his head absently. “Maybe by the end of the week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Great!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mokuba chirps on the line. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright. You get home and start packing then. I’ll call you tomorrow. So glad you said yes, Jounouchi!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me… too.” By the time he finishes his statement, Jou realizes the line had fallen dead. Drunkenly, he blinks in surprise. Did he just accept a job offer from Mokuba Kaiba? Without any explanation?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Jou hangs his head and uses his hands to massage his temples. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> have I gotten myself into?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The brunette lets out an irritated scoff. “I have half a mind to let you walk all the way to my home like the sad, pathetic mongrel you are.” His tone is harsh and unrelenting as his eyes narrow into pointed chips of ice. “See how long it takes you to come back with your tail between your legs.”</p><p>Fucking prick.</p><p>“Do you ever get tired of being a self-absorbed megalomaniac?” he seethes tiredly.</p><p>“Big words you’re using there, mutt.”</p><p>Jou’s chest puffs up in spite of himself. It wasn’t often that he got to string together sentences with words longer than two syllables. Sue him for feeling a bit of pride. “Damn straight.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I felt quite inspired and went ahead and whipped up this chapter (even though I should be studying for exams... rip) I hope you enjoy the read!</p><p>As always: I do not own YuGiOh! In any shape, way, or form.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>October 11th, Domino City, Japan. 12:00 PM JST. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the four days that had passed by since Mokuba’s ludicrous decision to hire a bodyguard on Seto’s behalf, the blue-eyed CEO found himself with a temper even shorter than usual. Five employees had already been fired under his jurisdiction (though, try as he might, Seto was sure that his younger brother and HR had quietly swept his outbursts under the rug and kept the incompetent employees on the KaibaCorp payroll in spite of their termination) and God only knew how many more would face the wrath of his unabashed tyranny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s resolved to busy himself with multiple reports on the last financial quarter’s statistics and as blue hues skim over the numerous infographics, charts, and tightly-packed numbers. Pianist's fingers skim expertly over the keyboard as Seto hunkers down to complete the busywork at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a welcome distraction, really, for even the slightest moment of idleness led Seto back full-circle until his blood boiled over the impending doom looming overhead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Mokuba’s credit, Seto had been granted with a very stable ninety-six hours to gather his bearings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands slow in their tapping just as the phone settled atop his desk lets out a loud, shrill ring. He stares blankly at it for a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Looks like his fleeting sense of peace was about to be shattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting back a low growl, Seto picks the phone up and holds the receiver to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make it quick.” He doesn’t bother masking the cutting edge slicing through his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Aw, you could at least pretend to be a little happy to hear from me, ‘nii-san!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba’s chipper tone causes the seedling of a migraine to pound lightly at the back of his head. Seto exhales a strained sigh through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose as he does. “Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘nii-san</span>
  </em>
  <span> me right now, Mokuba,” he warns, though his words lack any real intent behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, well, fine. But! I have good news.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something tells me that whatever it is you’re about to say hardly qualifies as </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> or as </span>
  <em>
    <span>news</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba continues as if Seto’s dry, irritated aside didn’t even register. “Come to the boardroom in fifteen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mokuba--” his groan falls on a dead phone-line and with a tired, irritated grunt, Seto all but drops the receiver back into its designated slot. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but feel as if the entire debacle at hand is nothing more than a sick, cosmic joke; he had never been the type of man that believed in the will of a higher power. The concept of spirituality had been lost on him long ago, back when he was just a little boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gozaburo Kaiba’s very being disproved the existence of any sort of benevolent deity, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after chasing behind Yugi and his squad of dweebs for the sake of ancient Egyptian artifacts, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to admit that sometimes, things were certainly out of his control. The very thought makes him cringe, but the vexing reality of a world outside of his own hands had to be confronted nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving one last groan of exhaustion, Seto pushes himself away from his desk with a sharp movement. The gears turning in his head were already working to plan out the most effective methods to evade whatever poor sod had the misfortune of being tied to his side. Seto always had been and always would be a solitary worker. His greatest breakthroughs as a child prodigy and adult alike had been the fruits of lonesome labor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His step-father had raised him to be smarter than any supercomputer -- and he intended to use his superior intellect to outsmart the brainless beefcake tasked with overseeing his movements. The thought alone is enough to make him smirk smugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s worrying over nothing; he merely needed to appease Mokuba and keep the ball rolling. A piece of cake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get this over with,” Seto grumbles to himself as hands move to adjust his trenchcoat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last twenty-four hours had been a blur and Jou could hardly make sense of it. After confirming that he had packed a majority of his belongings with Mokuba, the younger Kaiba had instructed him to venture his way to JFK the following afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou wasn’t sure what he had expected, but after finding his designated point of travel, he was taken to a private hangar. He was mystified, realizing now that the richest of the rich had been traveling under his nose the whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looked up, though, the blonde found himself mildly disappointed. A part of him had half-expected the private KaibaCorp jet to take on the form of a dragon. He was certain that Kaiba, himself, had flown in on a stylized Blue Eyes White Dragon before — but maybe the prick was just too selfish to share his favorite reptilian models with the likes of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The jet had been serviced with enough champagne and wine to last a man a lifetime — and while Jou had hesitated at first, he found himself indulging in a glass or five an hour after take-off. Free booze was free booze — and who knew when he’d next find himself with an opportunity as handsome as this one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six hours into the flight, he had managed to knock out in one of the plush, luxurious seats settled next to the window -- and when he finally came to, he was nursing the beginnings of a throbbing, hang-over induced headache and had only two hours left before touchdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that he stared out the window of his cabin and watched the dense layer of cottony-white clouds slip beneath the plane. The reality of the situation was finally beginning to sink in -- and he almost wished he was drunk again. The previous warmth that had pleasantly coursed through his veins was replaced by a sense of cold, impending dread. It was too late to back out now, though, and he resolved to sink into his seat with a tired groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he was ushered out of the plane, Jou felt his heart race anxiously in his chest. The suited security detail of the plane -- a large, burly man nearly a whole head taller than Jou -- curtly told him that Mister Vice President will send your things to the resort. Jou was unnerved, but opted not to question him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he towed a single carry-on suitcase behind him and made his way to the private black car -- complete with tinted windows and silent, unmoving chauffeur -- waiting patiently for him. The silence was beginning to make his skin crawl and Jou had attempted a lame attempt at small talk, but was only met with tense, one-word responses that left him feeling even more deflated than he already was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car-ride, while short, afforded Jou with enough time to ponder what would come next. The logical part of his brain concluded that whatever it is that Mokuba wanted from him, it would be a worthwhile investment. The Kaibas had no shortage of money, after all, and if the younger of the two had insisted on shipping the blonde all the way back to Japan on his personal black card, then… it must be good, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he remained hopeful that his intuition was correct, the less rational (and frankly, more prevalent) part of his thoughts couldn’t help but feel as if this entire thing was nothing more than an elaborate set-up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto Kaiba and Jou had never had anything akin to a positive relationship. Years of the rich bastard belittling him had left the blonde with a bitter taste in his mouth -- and even though neither of them had so much as batted an eye at each other since Jou’s move to the States, the hollow pit of dull rage managed to worm its way into the pit of his stomach nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, he thought to himself with a tired groan. Working under Seto Kaiba’s monstrous gaze sounded like torture of biblical capacity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts had been snapped away instantly as soon as he pulled into the parking lot for the resort -- a beautiful, glitzy building with glass walls and a marble dragon statue settled neatly at the entrance. That was more his style, Jou figured, and after being shown to his room, he let the tensions melt away in a long, hot shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba called soon enough and after another brief (and vague) conversation, Jou had transportation arranged for later that afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been dazed throughout the second car-ride to KaibaCorp’s main office and by the time he had been lead to the top floor (who fucking needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>fifty-something </span>
  </em>
  <span>stories for an office building,) he was sure he would pass out soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stern-looking woman with cropped black hair and red-rimmed glasses had nodded curtly as he hesitantly opened the door to the conference room from where she was seated. Arranged before her were two thick stacks of papers, a mug of half-finished coffee, and an assortment of pens. He was surprised to see that they were the only two occupants, but he didn’t trust his voice enough to ask where Mokuba or -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>gulps</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- Kaiba were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he slipped into a chair and awkwardly bowed his head over the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou couldn’t tell if it was the jet-lag, anxiety, regret, or all three that had his stomach turning uncomfortably as he fidgeted in his seat -- but as the seconds ticked by, the more he felt ready to fucking hurl.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Kaiba will be here shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s even tone cuts through his haze of confused, jumbled thoughts. He jolts automatically, head snapping up as he appraises her through wide amber eyes. “Er… which… one?” Probably the lamest and least tactful ways he could have asked, surely, but Jou hardly cares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does little to mask her mild annoyance. “The Vice President,” she clarifies -- but when she lifts her head, the dark-haired woman notes the owlish confusion on Jou’s expression and heaves an irritated sigh. “Mokuba Kaiba,” she tacks on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh--he’s… the Vice President now? Shit.” He hardly notices the way his vulgarity pulls an irritated sound from her, merely rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “Makes sense, I guess…” Jou mumbles, picking absently at a stray thread on his t-shirt. He begins to feel severely underdressed -- but Mokuba had hardly given him enough time to wait for his luggage to arrive. The blonde had resorted to slipping into what he had in his carry-on -- which, unfortunately, had only been a clean tee and a pair of simple jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s clear to him that this woman -- whoever she is -- was rather unimpressed by him. Jou can’t help but wonder exactly who or what she had been expecting to show up today. Wouldn’t be the first time he disappointed others before even doing anything. It didn’t get under his skin nearly as much as it used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She presses her lips together into a thin line and inhales as if on the verge of saying something when the door whips open and a flurry of dark black hair tumbles into the conference room. “Sorry I’m late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately, Jou feels his spirits lift. A wide grin splits across his face and he straightens in his seat. “Mokuba!” he greets, tone as chipper as always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jou! It’s been too long!” Mokuba finally straightens to give the other a bright smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou can’t help but note that the younger Kaiba had really grown up in the last seven years. He was taller now (still shorter than Jou, though, and certainly still a meter less than his brother) and his messy black hair was cropped to his shoulders. He was less “kid” and more “established young adult,” which almost shocks the blonde. He notes Mokuba’s fitted suit and can’t help but glance down sheepishly at his own clothes once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, uh… haven’t been in Domino for years, really,” Jou amends with a short laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba bobs his head in an understanding nod before taking the seat closest to the door. He takes a moment to wave politely to the woman who dips her head quietly in acknowledgment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, I know you are probably super confused about why you’re here,” Mokuba finally sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou only manages to nod his head. His brows furrow together as he watches the dark-haired young man curiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… I know I said this was about a job opportunity…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You better not be fucking with me about that, Mokuba,” he warns teasingly much to the woman’s chagrin. “I packed all my shit up to come to Japan again, so if you’re lying about that job…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba laughs in spite of himself, a wide grin lighting up his expression. “I wasn’t lying,” he promises earnestly. “But…” this time, his gaze glances over at the woman. “It’s… also a little more than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou looks perplexed. “Okay…” he clears his throat. “What do you mean by</span>
  <em>
    <span> that?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, the woman clears her throat and straightens in her seat. “Mister Mokuba reached out to you regarding a full-time position with KaibaCorp as a personnel security detail. The position has handsome pay, and we’re willing to not only match but surpass any of your previous salaries. On top of that, your position will come with housing and food. Your only expenses will be your recreational decisions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all sounds far too good to be true and Jou has the sensibility to narrow his eyes to give her a skeptical look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miyuki-san is right,” Mokuba supplies helpfully. The woman — Miyuki — raises her brows and fixes Jou with a curious look. “We’ve already budgeted it out, so everything will work out. I know you’re tough and strong. And records show that you’re employed as a security guard already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Was</span>
  </em>
  <span> employed,” Jou clarifies tensely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Mokuba tacks on. “So you already have experience and are familiar with KaibaCorp, y’know? And you’re a trusted individual. It’s not like you’re gonna plot mass murder against us or anything,” he jokes with a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” The blonde still can’t help the look of distrust lingering in his expression. Slowly, Jou reclines in his seat and scratches his head. “So… what's the catch. There’s no way you’re offering me a silver platter job with no catch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Mokuba has the decency to look a little sheepish. He and Miyuki exchange tense looks, but as the dark haired young man turns to open his mouth, the door whips open once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let's get this over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a deep, baritone drawl dripping with self-assured arrogance is enough to make Jou’s blood run cold. He turns slowly in his seat and the moment amber eyes meet cold blue, both men freeze instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing at the doorway with a mug of coffee is none other than the literal bane of his existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto fucking Kaiba. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Seto breaks the silence, the horror apparent in his eyes as lips twist into a scowl of disgust. He had only moved two steps into the room and it is already clear to Jou that that was all he needed to make his decision. “Absolutely fucking not. Who let a mongrel into the building?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It amazes Jou just how quickly his temper can flare when the rich douchebag opened his mouth — even years later. “Wow, and I thought I was the immature one,” he scoffs sharply, lips curling into a grimace. “Seven years later and something still managed to crawl up your ass and die up there, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low growl is all he receives in response, but Seto opts to ignore him completely — which only forces Jou’s anger to flare hotter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a joke, Mokuba. Kick the mangy mutt out of the building. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seto—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a question.” Seto’s harsh snap is enough to make Mokuba flinch. Jou chances a sideways glance over at the CEO and nearly blanches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The years hadn’t been altogether unkind to him; he remained just as tall, just as imposing as he had been back during their school years — but time had shaved off what little roundness Seto’s face previously held. He’s all cutting edges, sharp and jagged lines. His chiseled jaw and high cheekbones leave him looking almost gaunt, but the smoldering burn behind cerulean hues dispel any notion that he may be in anything less than perfect health. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sharpness of his face only makes the look of pure fury in his eyes that much more frightening — but Jou had never been a coward. Not then and </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly</span>
  </em>
  <span> not now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quit being a bully,” Jou snaps before Mokuba can protest. “Besides, you can’t say shit. I already accepted.” His tone is smug — but his bluff earns three very strange stares. A look of shock from Miyuki, a pleased grin from Mokuba, and an expression of utmost horror from Seto, himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop bullshitting.” Seto’s voice is little more than a low, cold growl as narrowed eyes snap a harsh glare in Jou’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde doesn’t waver, merely shooting the brunette a pointed look in response. He’s riding on a pulse of adrenaline now, pleased at the clear distress his very presence is causing Seto. It makes him feel almost smug and in spite of himself, his lips quirk into a faint smirk. “No bullshit, moneybags. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>one-hundo</span>
  </em>
  <span> percent legit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ.” Seto’s pained expression is enough to make Jou’s chest swell with pride. The brunette fixes Mokuba with a hard look, as if waiting for confirmation -- and for the first time since his brazen assertion, Jou feels his confidence wavers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He, too, looks at the dark-haired boy with nervousness; if Mokuba called his bluff, then it was game over and Jou had no choice but to concede to Seto… again. Like he always did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger Kaiba brother, however, proves to be far more shrewd than anyone expects. Jou isn’t certain if he imagines the dangerous glint lighting up the depths of his dark hues, or if Mokuba’s smirk is nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but when he clears his throat and bobs his head in an earnest nod, Jou can’t help but sigh under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did. Miyuki-san was just about to hand the form over for him to sign. We shook on it, though.” Mokuba raises a hand and places it carefully over his heart. “Scout’s honor, a deal has been made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou doesn’t bother chancing Miyuki with a look; he can all but </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> her irritation prickling off of her in thick waves. He half-expects her to protest and expose their lie, but instead, she merely shuffles the papers with perfectly-manicured fingers and slides a single form across the table. It swims into Jou’s vision and with a flutter of his lashes, he squints to read the fine-print inked against the stark white sheet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please sign on the indicated lines, Katsuya Jounouchi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Jou offers, grabbing the nearest pen before quickly scrawling his name down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally looks up, tongue nestled between his teeth, he can’t help but meet Seto’s gaze out of morbid curiosity. The CEO looks ready to kill, jaw clenching and unclenching until the muscle in his cheek jumps visibly with each subtle movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His attitude hadn’t changed one bit, Jou notes disdainfully; still as rigid, arrogant, and closed-off as usual. His expression, save for bloody murder gleaming in the depths of imperious cobalt hues, is neutral. Not a hair is out of place and for what it’s worth, he’s holding onto his cool remarkably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s enough to make his smug smirk widen a fraction further as Jou props his elbows up on the table. “There we go. So, when do I start?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Immediately.” Miyuki’s voice is calm and tranquil -- a direct contrast with the low growl of protest rumbling from Seto’s side of the room. “You will be routed to Seto Kaiba’s residence once he has completed his office hours for the day. Mister Mokuba will brief you upon arrival of your nightly duties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her clinical tone paired with her words causes Jou’s expression to immediately falter. “Wait--his </span>
  <em>
    <span>residence?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sneaks one last glance over at Seto who has moved to now pinch the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut painfully tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba nods again. “Yeah, as Seto’s security detail, you’re gonna be around him basically twenty four-seven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had enough.” Seto finally snaps, his voice colder than any glacier Jou had ever seen. He jerks upright robotically, sending his chair skittering a few centimeters in his haste. Palms slam harshly against the smooth surface of the table, the impact loud enough to cause Jou to jolt ever so slightly. Miyuki and Mokuba, however, hardly seemed phased. “If all three of you are done bullshitting around and wasting my time, I’m done with this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Seto sneers, gaze snapping over to level Miyuki with what Jou perceived as a withering, borderline-lethal glare, “you’re lucky I’m not firing you for going against orders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was merely listening to what the Vice President asked of me,” Miyuki reasons calmly, a single brow quirking as she tilts her head back to fix Seto with an equally cold look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seto, don’t take this out on her,” Mokuba interjects, sounding mildly irked. His little brother’s tired voice of reason is enough to snap the brunette’s composure back into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts, shoulders straightening and a hand running through chestnut locks to brush them back into place. “Hn.” His low hum is quiet and even as he straightens the lapels of his (still obnoxious, Jou notes) trenchcoat. He ignores the way Mokuba looks pleased with himself for curbing his otherwise-uncontrollable sensation of rage. Instead, he gives his younger brother a pointed stare. “I’ll have a word with </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba merely heaves a sigh, going limp in his chair as Seto stalks his way out of the conference room and lets the door slam shut behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long moment of painful, awkward silence and Jou fidgets in his seat again. His own hands, he realizes, had clenched into tight fists in his lap involuntarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. He took that far better than I had expected.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou’s head snaps up and he fixes Miyuki with a strange look, as if the woman had grown a second head when he wasn’t paying attention. “That was better?” he says slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokub runs a hand through his hair before humming. “Yeah, I’d say so. He didn’t actually fire you,” he muses, attention turning to Miyuki.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives a curt nod, leafing through the second stack of papers before her with a certain level of apathy. “Jounouchi,” she starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde blinks and stirs in his seat again. “Uh. Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that you’ve signed your agreement, it will take a few business days to process the remainder of your benefits,” she explains before putting the papers down. “In the meantime, I suggest you get yourself acquainted with your new work schedule and habits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right…” he trails off slowly before giving Mokuba a reproachful look. “So. Now what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba perks up in his seat. “I’ll give you a quick tour of the building and when Seto’s done with work in a few hours, we can all go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright…” Jou agrees reluctantly. The reality is slowly beginning to sink in, burrowing into his bones and making a home in his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his face with a hand tiredly, Jou grumbles to himself. “Guess I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> just signed my life over to be a human shield for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seto fuckin’ Kaiba,</span>
  </em>
  <span> huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jou had hardly paid much attention to the tour as Mokuba lead him in laps through KaibaCorp headquarters; his thoughts were distant and far away, disrupted by images of a very angry, very arrogant CEO. The initial adrenaline rush of sticking Seto with a pointed</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck you</span>
  </em>
  <span> had faded almost instantly after Miyuki went over the remaining formalities with him and now, all he was left with was a sense of impending doom looming darkly overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so, it’s four now and Seto just called for a car, so I think it’s best if… hey, Jou? Earth to Jou!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Uh,” the blonde gives his head a brisk shake and quickly gives Mokuba a look of sheepish embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t… paying attention. You said it’s time to go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mokuba gives him a look that reeks of unimpressed exhaustion, but the younger Kaiba merely shakes his head and sighs. “Yeah… I have some stuff to do, but I’ll meet you back at the house later, ‘kay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou swallows the lump forming in his throat and gives a slow nod. “Uh, yeah. Sure. If your brother doesn’t murder me before you get back,” he jokes dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has the decency to laugh slightly, flashing Jou a light smirk. “He won’t kill you. Promise. You know how to get to the elevator, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he promises with a distracted nod. He hardly registers Mokuba’s final goodbye before the dark-haired young man slips away to tend to whatever work he said he had to do. Instead, he inhales sharply and sets off in search of the nearest lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a bit of trial and error for him to navigate through the sterile, winding corridors snaking through the innards of the building, but once he finally finds himself exiting through the metal sliding doors of the elevator to find the main entrance, he sighs in relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun’s finally beginning to dip below the horizon, sending streaks of burnt orange and deep scarlet across the sky, a smattering of thin clouds the only thing obscuring the otherwise picturesque image. The heavy golden rays seep through the glass doors and once Jou pushes them open, a touch of warmth bathes his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he steps outside, he inhales deeply. The October breeze tastes fresh on his tongue, allowing the knot of unease settled in the pit of his stomach to slowly unfurl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou feels a familiar itch to fish out a pack of cigarettes in times like this; he had broken the habit only a few months earlier after so many attempts he had lost count, but every time the blonde found himself under copious amounts of stress, the urge nagged at him all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have much time to consider stopping at a nearby convenience store for a fresh pack, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou squints against the flash of bright orange glare as light bounced off the smooth metal of the car creeping to a slow, steady crawl before lurching to a halt at the curb before the entrance. Amber hues flick to rest on his own reflection, gazing almost dubiously back at him, in the unblemished window of the limousine. The sleek black car didn’t need a flashy silver emblem for Jou to identify it, but he knew that the license plate surely held a gleaming KC insignia on it, nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuffs his hands in his pockets, watching as the window of the backseat slowly rolls down to reveal a very irritated-looking Seto Kaiba. There’s a tense moment of silence as Jou stares at him and Seto stares back, a silent showdown of one’s stubbornness against the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was always a competition between them, after all, and old habits die hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, are you going to get in or not, mutt?” Seto’s cutting voice slices through the uncomfortable silence like the crack of a whip, jarring Jou back into reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, no arsenal of shitty jokes about how I’ll soil the backseat or some shit?” Jou jeers in return, unable to let go of the lingering urge to hurl back whatever insult Seto threw at him with equal ferocity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette lets out an irritated scoff. “I have half a mind to let you walk all the way to my home like the sad, pathetic mongrel you are.” His tone is harsh and unrelenting as his eyes narrow into pointed chips of ice. “See how long it takes you to come back with your tail between your legs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking prick.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> get tired of being a self-absorbed megalomaniac?” he seethes tiredly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big words you’re using there, mutt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou’s chest puffs up in spite of himself. It wasn’t often that he got to string together sentences with words longer than two syllables. Sue him for feeling a bit of pride. “Damn straight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto’s expression takes on an annoyed edge at Jou’s self-proclaimed pride. “Just get in.” he says shortly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou raises his brows, hesitating as his hand hovers over the handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Pushy bastard,” Jou growls under his breath before jerking the door open. He gingerly slides into the seat, careful to keep a sizable distance between himself and Seto, before closing the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto raps his knuckles lightly against the partition and the car engine purrs to life. As the vehicle pulls out of the parking lot, another tense silence blankets over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou stares down at his hands, fidgeting slightly as the leather of the upholstered seat squeals under his movements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you stay still? Or are you restless because you need to relieve yourself outside?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His snide remark strikes a nerve and his thin patience wears down. “Jesus fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kaiba! I haven’t seen your ass in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> and this is all you have to say?” he snaps, the exasperation palpable in his voice. “For a second, I thought maybe you’d grow the fuck up a little and leave all that dog-shit behind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seto crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat to throw Jou a dirty glare. “Why should I stop? You’re still a third rate loser with a fourth rate lifestyle. It’s not like you’ve amounted to anything other than being Yugi’s abandoned dog, now have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit, that stung. He flinches and his lip curls with a low growl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Watch it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> moneybags.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs and flashes a smug smirk at the blonde. “Or what? You’ll punch me and risk the job you just secured? Yeah, right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou freezes, the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach only intensifying at the patronizing look of condescension painted over Seto’s face. He clenches and unclenches his fist but resolves to say nothing more, merely mumbling a half-hearted</span>
  <em>
    <span> shove it </span>
  </em>
  <span>under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought,” the brunette continues smoothly, sounding far too proud of himself for Jou’s liking. “And while we’re on the topic, let’s establish some ground rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou doesn’t bother looking up, fixating his angry glare out the window to watch the scenery pass them by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My personal quarters are strictly prohibited. As is my office. You don’t speak to me directly unless I speak to you first. And under </span>
  <em>
    <span>no circumstances</span>
  </em>
  <span> will you snoop around. My home is not your hotel. You are merely sleeping in a corner until I can convince Mokuba to drop you off at the pound where you belong. Have I made myself clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jou hardly bites back the low growl threatening to escape him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Crystal</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he concludes bitterly, shooting Seto a bitter look. “Like I fucking care about what you have in your house.” He already realized that he made a mistake by flippantly signing the contract, but the least he could do was collect a handsome paycheck and use that to dip out and start a new life. One far, far away from his childhood nemesis turned employer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car pulls past a wide iron gate before coming to a slow halt before the entryway to the Kaiba Manor. Jou hardly notices, though, amber gaze molten with righteous anger as he holds Seto’s glare unyieldingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t until the chauffeur exits and opens Seto’s door for him that the tension begins to melt. Jou kicks open his own door and keeps his back to the brunette, sucking on his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God give him the strength to keep from strangling his new boss on his first night there.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Upon finishing this chapter, I realize that this may take longer than 5 chapters to complete... but we will see what happens! I'm happy with the way this chapter ended though and for what it's worth, I hope it's solid considering I wrote it in the span of a day and had lots of homework to do in between. As always, if you enjoyed it, please leave a kudos or a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts!</p><p>Find my @frcylan on tumblr or on my ygo sideblog @kcibas.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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